


Quiet Time

by FlyingMocha



Series: Equilibrium [3]
Category: James May's Man Lab RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 08:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMocha/pseuds/FlyingMocha
Summary: James was at his computer pretending to work when he heard his anticipated visitor at the front door.  He smiled warmly at the sight of Sim Oakley, inspirational inventor, creative architect, and very dear friend.  They breezed effortlessly through the typically awkward, English formalities involved in the beginning of a social call until Sim took the offered mug of tea from James, at which point James ran out of expected gestures to perform, and went genuinely awkward.  Sim smiled, realising that he was still very much the leader with regard to their quiet time, the term the younger man had mentally assigned to these visits.





	Quiet Time

**Author's Note:**

> The Bleeding Obvious (disclaimer):  
> Totally made up. Any resemblance to reality is unintentional on my part. It's even less real than reality television.  
> Figment of my imagination. I actually did research for this one, beyond just consulting imdb and wikipedia, and learned that dear lord, it was cold in England in the summer of 2012 when Toy Stories special Flight Club and (probably) Top Gear UK's 19th series were filmed. I still have no beta, so all errors, pathetic attempts at jokes, and the obnoxiously unclever title are mine and mine alone.

James internally cringed when he felt and heard the phone in his pocket alert him to an incoming text message, but he didn't let it show. The camera was on him, he was pretty sure. It was always on him when his phone chirped, it seemed. Confirmation bias, he told himself as he casually put his hands in his pockets as a mental reminder to check the message at the next break in filming. He didn't have to wait long since Hammond tripped over his own words a moment later, and Clarkson, the epitome of professional television journalism, spent the next ten minutes mercilessly teasing their youngest colleague. As soon as the light went off on the camera, he had his phone out.

He smiled when he saw Sim's name on the screen. _You in town anytime soon, James?_

Mentally, James sifted through his memory of the filming schedule until he found a gap in it. _Day after tomorrow, I have off, why?_

He kept his phone in hand, since it was likely that Sim would reply before Jeremy settled down and got back to work. Hell, it was possible that Sim had time to text him an entire volume of English poetry before Jeremy settled down and got back to work. Sure enough, the next text came just a minute later. _I'm in need of an oxytocin boost._

James frowned. What on earth..? It sounded, he thought, like Sim was suggesting they meet up for the purpose of using recreational drugs, or something, which was of course silly because Sim definitely wasn't the sort. After a moment's consideration as to whether this was a monumentally stupid thing to Google, James copied the word from the text and pasted it into his browser. Oxytocin. Hormone. Neurotransmitter. Love hormone. Cuddle hormone. Released when you -- oh. James suppressed a snicker at Sim's way of asking for some time to indulge in being affectionate, a favourite component of their unconventional friendship. Sensing that Jeremy was winding down and getting ready to shift back to work mode, James hurriedly pitched a couple of meeting times and places, then silenced his phone to avoid tempting Murphy any further.

Two mornings later, James was at his computer pretending to work when he heard his anticipated visitor at the front door. They breezed effortlessly through the typically awkward, English formalities involved in the beginning of a social call until Sim took the offered mug of tea from James, at which point James ran out of expected gestures to perform, and went genuinely awkward.

"That's excellent tea, James," Sim complimented his host casually as realisation struck that he was very definitely still the leader with regard to their quiet time, the term the younger man had mentally assigned to these visits. He moved into the next room with an ease borne of familiarity, having been in James' home many times to work on projects both show-related and personal. James parked himself on the sofa before Sim even had the chance to gesture towards it, so he followed suit, taking up residence right next to James and sliding an arm around him. James grunted slightly at the touch. "Ja-ames!" Sim said in his trademark tone of dismay, fingers gently poking at his friend's shoulder. "Your muscles feel like stones; what happened?"

"Filming accident," James muttered. "No big deal."

Sim fixed him with a look, head tilted down so he could peer over his glasses in a way that he knew made himself look more authoritative. "What happened?" he repeated. James considered begging off on account of needing to protect the show's secrets before it would air, but he knew that wasn't going to get very far with this man who, history had already proved, was extremely good at keeping show-related secrets.

"Car rugby," he said, as if that explained everything. Sim raised an eyebrow in an unspoken request for clarity. "It's where we put two teams of five cars on the pitch, along with a tremendously oversized ball, and… well, play rugby. That's what we filmed yesterday."

"You got hit," Sim concluded, having watched enough rugby matches in his life to figure out how the game worked when using cars as players, especially given what he knew about the general point of Top Gear.

"Direct hit to the passenger door," James confirmed. "In fairness, crashing was half the point, but on wet grass in the rain, the speed got a little out of hand. Rather jarring; car seating isn't designed to protect from lateral acceleration." 

"Skidding can do bad things to speed control," Sim acknowledged, taking one more sip of his tea before kicking his shoes off and turning himself to sit sideways and lean back against the arm of the sofa. He wedged one leg between the seat and back cushions, and the other foot he placed on the floor, effectively clearing the seating area of both legs. "Sit here," he instructed, patting the space between his knees, "facing away from me, please." 

When James didn't move instantly, Sim leant forward and pinched the sleeve of the man's tee-shirt, giving it a gentle but decisive tug. James moved before Sim decided to start yanking harder. This was one of his favourite aeroplane shirts, after all, and he didn't want Sim tugging it out of shape. Sim wasted no time in putting his hands on James' shoulders, letting his warmth transfer as he began to press gently at the knotted muscles.

"I thought you were the one who needed the oxytocin boost," James commented in response to the unexpected but very appreciated massage.

Sim gave a hum of agreement. "Touch is occurring," he pointed out.

"What was going on that asked to meet today?" James asked. Sim didn't answer this question quite so readily, instead spending a few moments focusing on a particular spot that was provoking harsh sighs of mingled pain and relief from James.

"Frustration at work," he answered. "It's setting in that Man Lab is over, that we might not work together professionally again--"

"We've been working on that giant glider together," James countered. "And it's -- all right, I don't know your schedule, but this is my one day off and then that's the only thing I've got time for until launch day. Two weeks of me and you, hoping too much togetherness doesn't drive us crazy."

"That's a short trip, James, for both of us," Sim said, acknowledging reality with a wry grin. "I'm thankful for that project, but launch day is only two weeks away and I'm just a little bit dreading the end of the project. I love what I do, honestly. Doing it on television was always just a side gig, just something I did because it sounded fun, because you're really not living if you don't say yes to the occasional outlandish opportunity. But… working for people who aren't you, James, means working with people who have no clue what they want, no clue what they're asking me to do, why it's hard, why it's sometimes impossible, how it could possibly be anything other than my fault that their brilliant plans violate the laws of physics, and why their budget expectations are completely laughable."

"You're the most relaxed, even-tempered person I know, especially when working with the uninformed," James observed, a sideways expression of surprise and maybe even doubt that work-related frustration was Sim's motive for texting his request for a visit. The room was silent for a few moments, except for occasional breathy sighs of contentment as James' shoulders began to respond to Sim's careful attention, relaxing obediently under his confident hands.

"I've missed you, all right?" Sim finally said. James laughed softly at that. At least he wasn't the only one who felt painfully awkward about saying things like that. "I wanted to call a couple weeks ago but you were off in Africa, and… I missed you."

"Me too," James responded after a quiet moment. "What do you need? I appreciate the massage, but that's not what you had in mind when you asked, so I'd like to know what comes after this."

"I don't know," Sim answered. "I avoided thinking too much on it. Didn't want to wallow in self-pity once I knew I had to wait a couple days. We'll sort it out as we go. Or did you have an idea to suggest?" The room's silence was only broken by a couple of harsh sighs from James before he grabbed a notepad and pen off a nearby table and started scribbling. Sim, unsure what that was about, continued working at his back muscles until he was interrupted by a notepad page being thrust over James' shoulder towards him.

Sim frowned, turning the page to orient it, then frowned even harder as he worked to decipher James' neat and elegant yet challenging handwriting. _I don't know how to do what you do for me. Can you teach me?_ Sim chuckled and folded the paper, setting it aside. It was a silly request, on the surface. Of course James knew how to touch a person. But the request was more about how not to be paralysed by awkwardness, a lesson that, while teachable, could be a bit of a challenge. His hands came to James' shoulders, giving them a brisk rub that he hoped would convey acceptance. "Do you feel up to it?" Sim asked. "Is your back all right?"

"All right enough," James answered. "I'll let you know if it changes."

Sim started to move, pulling his leg back out from its space between the cushions. "Turn and sit in the conventional way," he directed. "Take your time to get comfortable, and let me know when you've settled."

After a minute or so of movement, James caught Sim's eye and nodded. "What I'm going to do," Sim explained as he moved closer, "is just lean on you, to start with, all right?" He didn't wait for James to agree before scooting up against his friend, grabbing James' arm and wrapping it around his own shoulders. "You just do this," he said. "And you can stop there for now, or we can move on to the advanced class if you'd like."

James chuckled at that. "What's the advanced class?"

"That's where you use your other hand as well, like on the other person's arm, hand, or hair," Sim said, suggesting the sorts of things he tended to do for James. The elder man didn't move, which didn't surprise Sim, but the tension seemed to be slipping slowly out of his body as he became more familiar with the sensation of having Sim tucked against his side. Sim wondered idly if this would be easier for James than their previous visits, simply because being needed tends to be less of an insult to one's self-image than did being needy.

"What's going on with work?" James asked after a few moments. Sim groaned in response.

"This woman who's hired me," he began, "has got her hands on a houseboat that… I'm shocked it still floats, honestly, and she wants me to turn it into some kind of combination home-slash-studio-slash-gallery and I'm fairly certain based on her sketches and ideas that she and the laws of physics are not on speaking terms. I don't even… if I weren't so fond of food, I would give her money back and run far, far away."

"I know this is one of those things a man shouldn't ask his friend, but are you struggling?" James asked. Sim shook his head at that.

"You know me, James," Sim said. "I have backup plans for my backup plans. I'm fine. But my goal is to be more fine next month than I was this month, and work is my strategy for achieving that." Sim's hand found its way to James' arm in a gesture that James found both scarily intimate and wonderfully safe. "I appreciate your concern, though. I just simply… I can prioritise my life goals or my pride, but I can't do both this month. I hate that, but it happens that occasionally I have to put up with an utterly insane customer… crazy people asking me to build a three-mile race track across a flipping pond, and a swiss army bicycle, and…" Sim's teasing rant gave way to shared laughter, and to his great surprise, James' hand ventured up and gave this whole hair-touching thing a try. It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time he'd done it unprovoked, for Sim's benefit and not simply as a way of connecting and soothing James' own desperate need. Sim beamed both at James' willingness and the sensation of fingertips brushing the loose tangles out of his hair. He shivered slightly, prompting James to pull the maroon blanket from the back of the sofa and throw it haphazardly across their laps. "Still smells like our lab," Sim observed wistfully, as he pulled the blanket closer.

"It smells like sawdust, unclean steel and that lubricating oil you use on your power tools," James corrected, to Sim's amusement. "Three washes, and that smell has persisted. I've given up."

The room fell quiet other than their shared chuckles about the state of James' blanket. "It's been cold this summer," Sim observed, rolling his eyes at himself. When in doubt, talk about the weather. How utterly English.

"The glider project is a Christmas special," James pointed out. "Your silly jumpers will look good when it airs."

"Why are you so amused by my jumpers?" Sim asked. It was a friendly discussion that had come up before, James teasing him periodically about the lack of masculinity involved in his preferred style of bulky cable-knit wool as compared to James' sweatshirts and leather motorbike jackets.

James took a breath to speak, then hitched up momentarily. Sim's hand had snaked up to touch James' hair, returning the gesture finally. "They're… I don't know, Simmy, they're all fluffy, and soft, and… sensitive."

"Like your floral shirts?" Sim asked, his gentle tone serving to blunt the pointed question he knew he was asking. James gave a noncommittal hum. "Thought so."

"Do you think it's going to fly?" James asked, shifting the topic away from his soft interior.

Sim made a thoughtful sound, aware of James' intent in switching topics, but he wasn't opposed to the opportunity to think about a project that didn't make him want to start throwing pencils. "Depends, how's the hot air balloon rental coming?"

James groaned, provoking a full-bodied laugh from his chief engineer. "I'm starting to get nervous about that, actually. The companies I've spoken to, both think it's a bad idea. They think the risk of the balloon drifting away from our launch zone is too great in the winds at eight thousand feet, and tethering it wouldn't produce an accurate enough result for our purposes." James punctuated his concerns by resting his cheek on the top of his friend's head, slightly impeding his ability to run his fingers through Sim's hair, but Sim decided the trade-off was worth it. His decision was verified when James' hand worked its way downward, stuttering and nervous in its movements, to rest on his arm. Sim couldn't help but be proud of the effort James was investing in being himself for what may well have been the first time in his life.

"What are they suggesting instead of a balloon?" Sim asked.

"Helicopter," James answered. His grumbly tone made his opinion plain. "We can't launch from a helicopter. What are you going to do, lean out the door and…" he paused to shudder, his arm tightening around Sim in the process. "Gives me vertigo just to think about letting you do that."

"I'm sure there would be a lot of safety equipment involved," Sim reminded James. "But the downwash from a helicopter is tremendous that close to the rotors, isn't it? It wouldn't work; you're right."

"Probably destroy the glider instantly, or it would just go into a dive. Ben's gadgetry controls heading, not pitch attitude; we can't break it out of a dive. And it could even pitch up and hit the rotors." James tilted his head awkwardly to make eye contact with Sim, who had by this point slouched down so low that his head was nestled at the side of James' chest, just below his shoulder assembly. Heh, shoulder assembly… James gave a brief smile at the realisation that they'd spent so much time together in recent months that he was starting to sound like Sim, even in his own thoughts.

"So…" Sim said, dragging the word out as his thoughts bounced around against one another in semi-random patterns. "So the question is, what can we do to mitigate that? It sounds like it needs to be launched from sufficiently below the helicopter to avoid the worst of the downwash, with it flying forward to impart sufficient momentum… take the place of me throwing the glider. But how do we transport it without it trying to fly on us... we have to selectively impede its ability to generate lift, don't we?"

"That's the sum of it," James said, his hand wandering along Sim's arm to his hand, gripping it loosely and holding it against his chest. "But how?"

"A… shipping crate, perhaps..?" Sim shot his friend an incredulous look as they both laughed. "I've got no idea, James. I'm just so utterly thrilled to be thinking about a project that doesn't involve delicately explaining that a boat's weight capacity cannot be changed by simply rewriting the placard." James snickered at Sim's irritation with his current client. "Some sort of… maybe shaped to fit the glider, in the style of a sarcophagus, that interferes with the aerofoils' ability to generate lift, so it remains still air while in transit. Then some kind of release mechanism, maybe a remote clasp and… no, we can't have a hinged bottom, the glider might fall out arse-first or something catastrophic."

"Not to mention the small but real risk of a hinge failing and a piece of a glider box crushing the locals," James said. "I know how unlikely it is, but it's not like anybody's tested helicopter-transported glider shipping container construction before, so maybe over a semi-populated area isn't the best place for us to pioneer that." The room fell quiet again as they thought. James idly traced the bones of Sim's hand, visible through the slender man's skin. One was different from the others, and he found himself prodding at it especially.

"Old shop accident," Sim said, provoking a confused look from James. The younger man nodded towards their joined hands. "You were poking at it. I took it as a question."

"Oh, I guess it was sort of a question," James acknowledged. "It just hadn't come fully to conscious thought yet. What happened?"

"A former colleague was building… do you know, it's been so long that I've forgotten what it was. But he'd cut and welded a length of steel into an L-shape, and was using an angle grinder to cut the excess off of one end. Except his weld sucked, and the vibrations of the angle grinder caused it to fail, that segment fell and contacted the grinder blade, and, well, ten thousand RPM can add quite a bit of kinetic energy to a projectile. The beam shot across the shop and broke my hand." Sim gave James an encouraging smile. The older man's concerned gasp, as well as his increased heart rate, made the tale's emotional impact rather evident.

"Lucky it didn't kill or permanently maim anybody," James muttered, touching Sim's hand protectively rather than curiously, now.

"He's a former colleague for good reason," Sim said. "You know, I have some electromagnets leftover from that magnetic table project for Man Lab; maybe we could use them to fasten the glider and release it at the proper time. We needed an odd number so I ended up with five or six left over."

"Simmy, that stuff was supposed to go back to the BBC!" James laughed.

"I only billed for materials used; the rest are mine," Sim reassured his friend, whose surprised laughter quickly turned to a perturbed glare. "Oh, would you… James, you know I hate billing you anyway. Besides, I thought the extras might be fun to play around with."

"You're not billing me; you get paid by the production company that hired you," James chided. "And they had better be accurate. Your work is worth every bit of your fee and then some, and you know I never look at the invoices. That's the accountant's job. Although I will tell her to be on the lookout for those electromagnets in the invoice for this month," James added with a grin. "Also the overtime that I suspect you're about to run into, because we have got to figure out this helicopter issue."

"I'm not billing for thinking about the project today, though," Sim argued, getting a laugh out of James in response. The pair fell into silence for a few minutes, both contemplating the problem at hand. This sort of thing was, James knew, why Sim's hourly rate, like that for many creative professions, was higher than one might expect. It was far easier than trying to figure out how to include "idea which randomly popped into my head while sucking down a beer at the pub" on an invoice.

"Want to buy some lumber? " Sim asked, breaking the silence. "We could build something and test it with the prototype glider."

"If we build it here, we'll have to transport it, and it'll be hassle enough to deal with the glider," James pointed out. "Let's save that for a little closer to launch day. Feel free to develop the plans ahead of time, though."

"So you want me to go out there an extra day or two ahead of time, now, and… are we renting a shed to store the tools and materials, or a hotel room for me? Because I have put up with an awful lot of nights sleeping in my van so we had more budget to blow on your half-baked ideas over the years, and you know I'm willing to do that for you, but I cannot do it with all my woodworking tools and a load of plywood in there."

"Too cold to sleep in the van lately, anyway," James muttered. "And you kicked me half to death last time. I had to find a hotel midway through filming the train race, and that was not easy with the crowd we'd attracted. We'll get rooms from the start, for this one."

"Now you're eating into the budget for your billable hours," Sim said with a teasing grin.

"Boss gets paid last," James countered. "Anyway, this one's a labour of love, really. I'm so blessed; it's only right that I share that now and then, try to inspire the next generation… sentimental nonsense like that." Sim rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue. He understood the importance James placed on sharing his love of quirky projects and creative problem-solving. He'd pay for the opportunity to do it, if not for the fact that it was much wiser to talk the BBC into footing the bill. "You want to work on the Meccano vehicle we've been kicking around?" James asked after a moment. "They haven't approved another Toy Stories special yet, but I sort of want to do it either way, as a personal project."

Sim's arms pushed their way around James, squeezing him in a childlike hug. James returned the gesture although he wasn't entirely sure what was going on. "My notebook's in the van," Sim answered. "I'll get up in a minute."

It wasn't until Sim said this that James realised how much he, too, was enjoying this closeness. Maybe Sim hadn't been the only one who'd needed it. "Maybe two minutes?" James suggested, earning a smile and a nod from his friend.

"All right, two more minutes, and then we'll go play in your shed," Sim decreed.


End file.
